Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 40: I Have Good Cleaning Skills

The lift doors slide open with a soft chi.

Deniz steps out first. I follow, hands in my pockets, my footsteps slowing as the corridor stretches before us—narrow, warm-lit by warm yellow lights. Faintly slling of detergent and old paint. It feels... lived in. Honest.

We stop in front of his apartnt.

Deniz suddenly looks nervous.

He pats his pockets once. Twice. His movents are stiff, slightly rushed—like he’s afraid the keys might vanish if he hesitates too long.

Before he finds them, an old woman walks past us, her slippers scraping softly against the floor.

Her sharp, curious eyes land on .

Then on Deniz.

"Deniz," she says, voice bright with familiarity.

He straightens imdiately, the instinctive politeness kicking in. "Hello, Granny. How are you?"

"I’m good, I’m good," she replies, then tilts her head, studying openly. "But who is this oga?"

Oga?

I blink.

Seriously?

I roll my eyes and look away. She’s old. I’ll let it slide.

Still—do I really look that fragile?

Stil— is that really how I look to strangers?

Deniz glances at quickly, checking my reaction, then clears his throat.

"He’s my friend, Granny."

Her face brightens imdiately.

She steps closer to him, lowering her voice as if she’s sharing a secret, though she isn’t subtle at all.

"Don’t tell he’s your partner."

Deniz freezes.

His eyes widen. His ears turn red.

She continues, now looking straight at with approval. "He looks rich. And very beautiful."

Deniz coughs, adjusting his glasses nervously. "G-Granny, no—he’s just my friend."

She sighs dramatically, waving a hand. "Don’t be shy. I know better. You never bring friends ho."

Deniz gives up arguing.

He pulls out his keys too fast, steps forward, and unlocks the door with hands that clearly don’t want to cooperate.

As she walks away, the old woman laughs softly.

"Have fun, you two. Lovey-dovey," she sings, waving.

Deniz’s hands tremble as he unlocks the door.

He glances at , mortified. "I’m sorry... she’s just like that."

I smile lightly. "It’s okay."

The door clicks open.

I step forward to enter—but Deniz suddenly blocks the doorway.

"W-Wait," he blurts out, face burning red.

I stop. Look at him.

His gaze drops to the floor. "Can you... stay outside for a mont?"

I tilt my head. "Why?"

"I didn’t clean," he admits, voice low. "It’s ssy."

Eyes down embarrassed—

I smile softly. "I don’t mind."

I try to step in.

"Please—just ten minutes," he says quickly. "I’ll clean fast."

There’s sothing almost desperate in it.

I sigh, amused. "Deniz, it’s fine."

I gently push past him anyway. He stumbles back a step, and we enter together.

I stop.

My eyes widen.

Clothes everywhere.

Snack wrappers and popcorn scattered like evidence of long nights. Soda cans crowded on the table. Nothing staged. Nothing polished.

Just real.

A tiny apartnt, clearly lived in—and very, very human.

I take it all in, slowly.

Deniz stands beside , completely still, eyes fixed on the floor. His face is burning red, embarrassnt practically radiating off him.

The silence is thick.

Not awkward.

Just exposed.

...Sohow, it’s adorable.

I stare at the apartnt for a long mont.

Then my gaze shifts to Deniz.

Then back to the apartnt again.

The apartnt.

Then Deniz.

Then the apartnt again.

It doesn’t make sense—and that’s exactly why it does.

This space is chaos. Clothes draped without care, empty cans scattered like forgotten thoughts, the couch half-buried beneath things that were never ant to stay there. It’s loud without sound.

And Deniz—

Deniz is order. Discipline. Control.

The contrast hits all at once—this place is the complete opposite of him.

The realization bubbles up before I can stop it.

A laugh escapes.

Not sharp. Not mocking.

Just... surprised.

"Hah—"

Then another breath.

"Hah... hah..."

It builds before I can stop it, spilling out warm and unfiltered. My chest tightens, eyes stinging faintly as I laugh too hard, too honestly.

Deniz stiffens beside .

I feel it instantly.

His face turns an even deeper shade of red.

"Why... why are you laughing?" he asks quietly.

I wipe the corner of my eye, still smiling, and look at him.

"Because," I say, breath still uneven, "this place is the complete opposite of you."

The words land.

I watch his shoulders draw inward—just slightly, but enough. His gaze drops to the floor. The color on his cheeks deepens, not from embarrassnt now, but sothing quieter.

The laughter drains out of .

The air changes.

I stare at him in silence.

Shit.

Neon, you ssed up again.

He looks sad now, the kind of sadness that isn’t loud, but lingers.

Idiot.

Neon, you absolute idiot.

I step closer before the silence can grow teeth.

Slowly—carefully—I lift my hand and touch beneath his chin with one finger, guiding his face up until his eyes et mine. I don’t force it. I wait.

"I’m sorry," I say softly, guilt threading through my voice. "I didn’t an to make you feel bad."

He hesitates, then shakes his head.

"It’s not that," he murmurs. "I just—"

I don’t let him finish.

A small smile curves onto my lips, warr now, steadier.

"Let’s clean this together."

Deniz’s eyes widen in surprise. He just stares at , silent for a mont, then asks slowly, almost unsure, "Together...?"

I nod, cheerful, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. "Yes. Together. Let’s do it."

He shakes his head at once. "No. I can do it alone."

I don’t argue. I simply take off my coat, draping it aside with exaggerated confidence. "Co on. I have good cleaning skills."

He freezes.

Completely.

As if he’s just heard sothing impossible.

Like I’ve just told him the president of Kael Holdings washes dishes for fun.

I almost laugh again—but this ti, I don’t.

Of course. Why would he believe it? To him, I’m Zyren Kael, president of the biggest business empire, soone who’s never touched a mop in his life.

But I’m Neon. And in my real life, cleaning floors, washing dishes, wiping tables—that’s how I live. That’s how I survive. I’ve been good at it for a long ti.

Deniz keeps staring at , silent, processing.

I glance back at him, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Co on."

He blinks hard, then finally nods—quietly, as if surrendering to sothing he doesn’t quite understand yet.